Sleeping
by Viopathartic
Summary: Ron and Hermione have a talk while Harry sleeps.


**Sleeping  
**

Viopathartic**  
**

**Updated and tweaked on August 27, 2012**

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It had been a while since Ron had visited Hermione. With his booming career as a Quidditch player and incessant need from his very pregnant wife, he barely had time to talk to his best friend of ten years. But today was a special day.

Ron decided to hit Three Broomsticks before heading over to where Hermione's place. He asked Seamus Finnegan, a friend of his from Hogwarts, to share a few drinks with him, and they agreed to meet at the popular bar.

As always, the place was packed with drunken witches and witches - even a few goblins in the corner - looking for some relief from their heckling lives. The smell of the room was a melange of unwashed bodies, Vampire vodka, and varieties of food. Chatter and laughs surrounded Ron, but he tried his best to ignore them.

He and Seamus were ensconced in a secluded booth, and each man cradled a mug of Firewhiskey. The two passed the time by chit-chatting about Ron's latest wins as Chaser for the Chudley Cannons. Seamus complained about his boss at T_he Daily Prophet_, stopping once in a while to add in a comment about Parvati Patil, his girlfriend of five years.

"...I mean I love her to death, but she has to keep Lavender away from me. If not, she'll burn a hole into my ears," Seamus grumbled. Ron laughed at his friend's expense.

"Good thing Luna doesn't talk like that," Ron said. "She has no friends like Parvati; most of them are quiet people. I kind of like that."

"It's odd, you know," his friend commented, wearing a smirk, "you and Luna are the oddest couples ever!" Ron cast a confused look at Seamus. "I mean, yeah, I see you guys getting along, but you being a chatterbox and Luna being quiet, not to mention_ intelligent_—"

Ron threw a couple of peanuts in the other man's direction, believing that he deserved every hit given to him. "Shut it. I have my moments."

Seamus took an obnoxiously loud slurp from his mug. "That's what you think." He raised an eyebrow when he saw his redheaded friend surreptitiously glance around. "What?"

Ron jumped in his seat. "Uh…nothing—"

"What?"

"It's just—mate, do you know the time?"

"Nine-thirty. What, does Luna want you home at a certain time?" Seamus teased, amused as Ron flicked him off.

"No…I—well, I have to visit Hermione today." The goading atmosphere dissipated.

"You haven't talked to Hermione in...what, months, right?"

Ron nodded.

"Is it because—"

"Yeah," Ron replied distractedly. He grabbed some remaining peanuts from the basket in the middle of the table and threw down a handful of golden coins. "Alright, mate, see you some other time."

He rushed passed his friend, but before he could merge into the crowds of intoxicated people, Seamus called after him.

"Hey, Ron!"

Ron, who was putting on his light summer jacket, turned to his friend again. A really tall, stumbling girl pushed against him, as she passed through with her equally inebriated date. "Yeah?"

"Ask her how she's doing for me, alright?" Seamus said, nodding his head.

"Will do." Ron shot his friend, who raised a glass to him, a quick smile.

It was a perfunctory question; everyone knew how Hermione was doing.

To be frank, Ron was nervous. He had failed to keep up his daily visits, and it had been three or four months since he had last seen Hermione. The only reason why he was going to visit her was because it was Harry's birthday.

He was so distracted with rehearsing his speech to Hermione that he didn't realize that he had taken the lift to her place and that the front door had opened. Someone must have rung him up and told Hermione of his presence.

"Ron!" His brunette friend exclaimed once seeing him. "You came here to say happy birthday, didn't you?"

"Yeah…" Ron smiled timidly at her.

Hermione glanced at his hands and then leaned against her door. She crossed her arms. "Where's his present?"

"I," Ron thought furiously of an excuse but couldn't find any, "forgot it. Sorry."

"Oh, Ron! Just come in then!" she ordered, laughing. Then she pointed at his feet and ordered with authority, "but take off your shoes! I don't want my tiles to get ruined; I just got them installed. Plus, Harry is a bit knackered after work and I don't want to wake him up just yet."

Ron gently set his pair of shoes onto the ground. As he straightened up, he momentarily lost his balance and crashed against the closest wall. Hermione gave him concerned look then a scolding one. "Ron, be a little quiet. He's sleeping," Hermione scolded, pointing a slender finger down to the ground. "He's downstairs so we have to tiptoe."

"Right. Sorry." He regained his balance and rubbed his shoulder.

Sometimes, he just wished Hermione would stop.

"Mm-hmm," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "Now, let's take a seat. We haven't finished moving so that's why the room looks so bare and white. Sorry. I have only have two chairs and a table right now, but Harry and I are thinking of ordering some more."

Ron glanced around the room to see that she was correct; it was as if Hermione didn't even live here. Two chairs and a table took up the center of the room. Books lay on the ground, scattered as if Hermione had tripped over some on her way to the front door. There were no pictures or paintings on the walls; only a window acted as the decoration. Even the window didn't have curtains. Her whole place lacked color and Ron felt lifeless in it.

"Ron, you're okay, right? I mean about me and Harry," Hermione asked unsurely, biting her lower lip.

Ron put on a smile, straightened up, and turned to face his friend. "Yeah, of course! In fact…me and Luna are together."

Hermione gasped and Ron quickly found himself in his friend's embrace. He forgot how strong she was.

"Ron, that's great!" Suddenly, she put a hand over her mouth and chuckled. "I shouldn't be so loud; we might wake up Harry."

Ron smiled in spite of his feelings.

"Anyways, Harry and I always thought you were suited for each other, right, Harry—" She turned her head to the right as if Harry was next to her. Then she stopped herself and let out a laugh. Ron watched uneasily.

He remembered how his two friends always finished each other's sentences. How they could be in a group but still have a conversation with just the two of them involved. Everyone except Hermione and Harry would feel like an intruder and they would sooner or later scatter away.

"I always forget that Harry is not always by my side. Throughout our years at Hogwarts, he was constantly…there! But since he's sleeping downstairs…" she trailed off with a smile. Then Hermione rolled her eyes again and gestured Ron to follow her.

They sat across each other at the table. Ron draped his coat on the back of his chair and placed his hat onto the table. He felt Hermione's eyes move across his face and down his body, as if she was scanning for a fault.

"You look the same," she stated. He couldn't detect any emotion in her voice.

"You…do too," Ron answered automatically, but at the sight of Hermione's wry smile, he knew that she knew that he was lying.

Her uncontrollable hair was held up by a black clip that failed to keep it all in. Her skin was the color of a porcelain doll's skin, like she hadn't been outside for ages. Her clothes, a simple white night outfit, hung off her thin, bony body.

But even so, she looked happy. That made something inside him hurt. How could she be so happy?

"On to a new subject," Hermione said, tucking a strand of hair behind an ear. "Now, how is Quidditch?"

"Do you really want me to talk about Quidditch?" Ron knew that she wouldn't understand the technicalities that revolved around his favorite sports game.

"Well, don't use any Quidditch terms; tell me in English." Hermione grinned.

Ron let out a quick laugh and updated her on his life. He recounted his wins and how much publicity came because of them. He told Hermione about his and Luna's relationship, how their days came with surprises. Hermione laughed when he told her about their playful banters.

"The two of you remind me of Harry and I," Hermione commented. She didn't notice that Ron's smile had left his face; she was too busy glancing out of the only window.

"It came so sudden," Hermione said, looking at something that her friend couldn't see, couldn't understand. "Of course, I knew I had feelings for him. It was only until that moment that I—" she stopped suddenly.

This was the woman Ron had loved and dated for a year at Hogwarts. Yet, five months after their breakup, he realized that the "love" he felt for her was only of the brotherly sorts. He remembered being so enamored by her. The sight of her warm smile and soul seeking brown eyes used to make his insides squirm. Now, he felt a pain.

The only reason why Hermione was so happy was because of the thought of Harry.

"I love him," she said softly as a hand reached up to grab the locket around her neck. It was a gift from Harry, from four years ago when he had gone off to battle. The three of them were afraid to leave each other because it meant that they might never see each other again. Just as they were commanded to take stations, Harry grabbed a hold of Hermione's arm, holding her back.

His eyes had spoken to her in ways that Ron was still trying to decipher. Whatever message Harry had sent, Hermione launched herself into his arms, and the two kissed for the first time. It was a bittersweet moment; their love was finally revealed but needed to be put on hold because of the battle.

Harry gave her a locket—the locket that she was holding now. Hermione never let anyone but Harry touch it. Ron understood, of course; it was one of the most precious gifts that Harry had ever bestowed on her.

"I know you do," Ron whispered to her, tenderly, holding her hand. Hermione smiled and patted his hand with her other.

"I'm glad he loves me back—"

"—Why wouldn't he?"

"Honestly, Ronald," Hermione said with only a hint of exasperation, "I wasn't a looker like Cho or—"

"So. You have other attributes."

Hermione crossed her arms. "Like?"

"Like that big brain of yours."

The table between them restrained Hermione from hitting him. But the two of them knew Ron's comments weren't insulting. It was part of his nature to tease her so.

"Thank you for your compliments, Ron; you always had a way with words," Hermione sarcastically said. Then, with her mood suddenly changing, she glanced over to her right. A soft smile formed as her head tilted. Ron felt as if she was listening to something that he could not hear. Like it was a conversation between her and someone else…

"…I ordered him a cake for tomorrow, though the person was a bit rude," she informed him, as if she never even stopped talking. "Want to see it then, Ron?"

All he could do was smile encouragingly.

"Oh!" She suddenly said. Her eyes went wide. "Gosh. Who cares about a silly cake. I forgot about something very important!"

"What?" Ron sat at the edge of his seat; he had never seen her so alarmed.

She smiled widely, which brought Ron back to the first time he had ever met her.

"Harry and I...we're pregnant!"

His heart clenched. Something like tears began to build behind his eyes. His mouth started moving and words-he didn't know how-came out. They seemed to please Hermione because she was blushing. And then she stood up, saying her goodbyes.

"Come back tomorrow or something. He'll be awake by then," Hermione said as she leaned over her chair to grab a book from a stack. She set to making herself comfortable in the chair. "I think he wants to talk to you about Quidditch strategies," she smiled and winked, "because he can't talk about that with me."

Ron managed a grin and gave a slight nod. "Of course, Hermione."

"Oh, and can you bring the chair so that it's next to me? I think Harry's going to be joining me later after he wakes up."

"Yes, Hermione."

His hands shook as he picked up his jacket and cap—an old, worn cap—and they continued to tremble even as he traveled across the room.

With a forlorn sigh, the redheaded man put on his shoes, stepped out of the room, and glanced to his left.

The security guard was always there.

"How are you, Mr. Weasley?" Will was a well-built man with a body fit for tackling or whatever was necessary in his line of work. He was completely bald, but not because of his age. He had actually chosen to shave his head when he first saw his hair growing thin. Will believed it was better to do away with it rather than watch each strand disappear until there was nothing more. Ron wondered if they should have done the same with Hermione.

He sighed. "I'm fine, Will." A lie. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"Ah, you know how it is. I'm only called to Ms. Granger's room when you come, because everyone knows that I can deal with her if she ever…" Will didn't finish-just shrugged, knowing that Ron would catch his meaning.

He frowned and glanced at the door which he was guarding. Then, as if telling a secret, he leaned towards Ron and said, "It's really sad, seeing Ms. Granger like this. The healers tell me that Ms. Granger behaves perfectly on other days, but her mood may change the next day. I tell you, it's almost as if she doesn't need this place. She reads, cries sometimes, and reads some more, every single day. Today, however, is different because of—"

"Yeah," Ron muttered lowly.

Will nodded and straightened up. "Anyways, Ms. Granger is treated with the upmost respect—which, as a matter of fact, is different for other people 'like' her. So don't you worry. She's the only person to have her own living space within here. She has freedom here."

"You know why you're here."

Will replied with knowing glance.

"It's his birthday that's why," Ron said gently.

The man nodded, and the conversation was finished.

Ron turned the corner, momentarily glancing up at the sign that said "Psychiatric Ward." He snorted; St. Mungo's was such an elaborate institution that many signs were needed at every corner.

The hallways were crowded with patients, patients' families, and worried healers. It took a while for Ron to make a path through all the people, but finally, he came to the elevator. Sighing, he stepped into the lift, pressed the appropriate button, and clasped his hands in front of him.

Suddenly, there was a commotion and every Healer in his sight sprinted to one direction, pulling out their wands along the way. Familiar screams sounded hysterical as they pierced through the air.

Ron jabbed the button that closed the doors. The screams became muffled in his ears, and he bowed his head down. It always happened on this day. Always after his exit. Because he was the last check of reality for Hermione. Like a switch turned on, Hermione would snap. Her magic would release itself, becoming so uncontrollable that even Hermione couldn't stop it. She always had to be stunned into silence.

Ron rode alone as the lift slowly descended. His thoughts turned to the image of Hermione's face, happy as she talked about Harry, about her pregnancy. He remembered the way she scolded him for talking too loudly. That was normal Hermione, yet Ron knew that she would never be sensible, sane Hermione again. And he knew he would miss her.

The elevator door opened at the sound of a sharp beep. It was another long corridor ahead of him, but unlike the upper floor, this one would let him walk in solitude.

"Sleep peacefully, mate," he whispered forlornly, the image of his smiling bespectacled best friend in mind.

Truth was: Harry Potter had been sleeping for four years with his only company being piles and piles of sediments and dirt.

No one seemed to know how to wake Hermione up.

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_**Thank you for reading.** _


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